


A Mistress's Mistress

by ConvenientAlias



Category: Great Gatsby - F. Scott Fitzgerald
Genre: Chocolate Box Treat, F/F, Infidelity, Myrtle needs friends and love, Seduction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-03-07 11:14:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13433550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConvenientAlias/pseuds/ConvenientAlias
Summary: Jordan meets Myrtle at a speakeasy with Tom. Probably Jordan should have yelled at them and that should have been their last encounter, but she didn't. And it wasn't.





	A Mistress's Mistress

**Author's Note:**

  * For [summerdayghost](https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerdayghost/gifts).



> Hey, I wrote this fic as a treat because I was excited to see someone requesting Jordan/Myrtle. I thought I'd warn you that although you specified no love triangles there's a little bit of that here because seducing someone away from their already illicit lover is still technically love triangle. And Tom is very...influential...in this fic, though not always present. I hope that's okay? Great Gatsby relationship dynamics are tricky.  
> I hope you enjoy.

Tom had some nerve. It was one thing to keep a mistress in secret. That was practically the right of an upper class man in today’s society—as long as you kept it quiet and respectable and you still paid just enough attention to your wife, no one gave a shit. But bringing your mistress to a bar well known by your peers? On a Friday night, no less? Well, that was just asking for trouble.

Admittedly this speakeasy wasn’t the classiest joint in New York, but it wasn’t the most obscure either. Jordan came here quite often. She liked it because it was just on the edge of respectably illegal. Good place to get roaring drunk, good place to pick up a date, good place to hear the gossip. Not a place you were likely to get shot or spotted by non-corrupt police, not a place where the alcohol was likely to be spiked or twice as hard as promised. Jordan came here quite often but she never saw Tom Buchanan here. Not until tonight.

But tonight he was here, sitting at a small table off to the side of the room, and he had a woman with him. Curvy. Red-headed. Wearing the kind of dress Tom would probably like Daisy to wear—he’d always been a little to the left of decent. So, his mistress then.

Speakeasies were a good place for respectably illegal and immoral activity, but Jordan wouldn’t have expected Tom would dare something like this near her. But perhaps he didn’t know she went here. After all, he didn’t come here that often himself.

She considered slinking off with the gossip in her claws, telling Daisy she now knew what Tom’s mistress looked like and the woman was smoking hot. But when a man was asking for trouble, it was Jordan’s policy to give it to him.

She went over to Tom’s table and sat down next to him. “Mind if I join?”

Tom’s eyes widened. A smile grew on his face like some form of rapidly maturing algae, and he said, “Jordan! I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I like to be surprising. I’ll have some of what you’re having.” She’d brought her empty glass with her, and they still had the bottle at the table. She poured herself a full glass. Glanced over at the woman. “I’m Jordan Baker. And you are?”

The woman smiled brightly. Somehow she seemed to feel the awkwardness less than Tom, though she had to know Jordan could tell what was going on here. “I’m Myrtle Wilson. You must be a friend of Tom’s. Nice to meet you.” She shook hands with Jordan over the table. Her palms were slightly damp, but her grip was good. Amused by her frankness, Jordan lifted her hand slightly and kissed it, leaving a small trace of lipstick on the knuckles.

Myrtle’s slightly forced smile brightened into a sincere and genuine grin.

“I am a friend of the family,” Jordan said. _An old friend of Daisy’s_ , she didn’t say. _Have you ever met Tom’s wife? Lovely woman. You two have a lot in common._ “Has Tom ever mentioned me?”

“I don’t think so, but I have a terrible memory for names,” Myrtle said. “Tom, dear, tell me about Miss Baker.”

“She’s an athlete,” Tom said uncomfortably. “She plays golf. Very good.” He cleared his throat. “Myrtle is a distant relation, Jordan. But she and Daisy don’t get along very well, so…”

“So I don’t need to mention this encounter to her,” Jordan finished. “I see.” She sipped her wine. “I haven’t seen you around much, Myrtle. Do you live in the city?”

“I have an apartment. It’s very chic. I have a dog in it.”

“How charming! I would love to see your apartment. I love dogs.”

“He’s a darling. Tom, can we take her there?”

Tom refused, and Myrtle began to bicker with him. Jordan leaned back in her chair. Myrtle was about what one might expect from a mistress, she supposed. Young but not that young, a little bit garish with her red hair (which had to be dyed) and her short-skirted dress. Unsure how to act around any actual friend of Tom’s, but eager to impress. Tom probably lapped that eagerness up. If there was one complaint he made about Daisy it was that she was cold, which wasn’t even true. He wanted some kind of crude naiveté and dependence in a woman. That was why Jordan tended to think of him as a pig. One ought to appreciate a woman’s intelligence and experience. Nevertheless, there was something appealing about Myrtle—how forthright she was, how she clearly wanted to be appreciated.

Jordan sometimes, to her embarrassment, could like that sort of innocence in a woman as well, especially matched with Myrtle’s brassy audacity. But pointless to think of that here. Myrtle was already taken, and the kind of woman who liked Tom would never like Jordan.

“It’s all right,” she interrupted, when the argument had been going on for some time. “Perhaps I can see the apartment some other time, Myrtle. I’m sure it’s lovely. You seem like a woman of taste.”

Myrtle flushed. Really, she was much too attractive for Tom. Jordan found she had added motivation to break them up now.

But perhaps she wouldn’t tell Daisy about the meeting. It would only get her upset, after all. Unnecessary.

 

* * *

 

Jordan next saw Myrtle a week or so later. Much sooner than she had expected. In fact, she had rather expected never to see Myrtle again, for surely Tom wouldn’t return to the same bar.

And she didn’t meet Myrtle at the bar. She met her at a game.

The game had just completed. Jordan had won (of course she had—the opponent was weak and overhyped by the papers and everyone in the know had betted on her) and now she was accepting congratulations and answering questions from news reporters. Through the crowd she caught a glimpse of familiar red. She paused. “Excuse me.” Pushed her way towards the red until she arrived at Myrtle’s side, practically stumbling on top of her.

“Jordan!” Myrtle beamed. “I came to see your game.”

Jordan snaked an arm around Myrtle’s waist and led her out of the crowd over to a white table with a parasol over it. She sat down, and glared at a reporter who was approaching. He turned back and went away.

“I’m so glad you came to see me, darling. What did you think of the game?”

“You were brilliant.” Myrtle insisted on shaking Jordan’s hand again, pumping it up and down. And so, not bothering to resist the urge, Jordan kissed her hand again, this time lingering a little longer. When she looked up Myrtle was blushing again. So pretty.

She was wearing the same kind of skanky dress she’d worn at the speakeasy, this one a jade green. It didn’t suit the refined environment of a golf course, but a woman like Myrtle—who had to be lower class, really—wouldn’t know what to wear here, probably wouldn’t have any sporty or dignified dresses from a piggish lover like Tom.

She looked out of place. She also looked gorgeous.

“I’m surprised the game didn’t bore you.”

“I like golf.” That had to be a lie.

“We’ll have to play a match some time. Just you and me.” Jordan took Myrtle’s hand again and stroked it. “You know, out of everyone who came to see me, I’m the happiest to see you.”

“I didn’t think you’d have time to talk to me. But I had to come see it. I’d read about your games in the paper before, but I’d never seen one. You gave me an excuse to go, you know. And it’s very exciting.” Myrtle was grinning. Her smile was as charming as Jordan had remembered. “I can’t believe I know a real athlete.”

“Oh, don’t make me blush.” Flatterer.

“It’s crazy, the people I meet through Tom.”

Jordan smiled. There was no way Tom introduced her to many people, or even many places. Poor baby—someone ought to show her around properly. “I bet Tom told you not to come here.”

“I didn’t tell him I was coming.”

“I bet he told you not to talk to me again.”

“Tom doesn’t decide what I do,” Myrtle said, thrusting her chin out. “We’re...”

“He doesn’t want you to be around me because I’m one of his wife’s best friends. Did he tell you that?”

There was no point in lying.

Myrtle smiled uneasily. “Yes. He said you’d spread rumors about me. But we’re friends, aren’t we, Jordan?”

“Yes, we’re friends. I told you I’m glad you came today, didn’t I?”

“I did enjoy it,” Myrtle repeated. “Such a lovely game.”

 

* * *

 

 

It was a month before Jordan could make the promised visit to Myrtle’s apartment. Quite a process, really. First she wheedled Myrtle’s number out of her, then the address. Myrtle gave both up much too willingly—what if Jordan had been planning on revealing her to Daisy?—but she was not wrong to trust Jordan, even if Jordan was not usually trustworthy. She had decided not to betray Myrtle, not ever. The woman deserved someone solidly on her side. After that they had to work out a time when Myrtle wouldn’t be needed by her husband and wouldn’t be visited by Tom either (no way would he stand for this) and then meet up in the city.

Myrtle met Jordan at her apartment’s door. She gave her a brief tour. The apartment was a suite with a small balcony, a stylish parlor, and a lavish bedroom. Jordan sat down on the bed and gestured for Myrtle to join her. Properly they ought to speak in the parlor. But Myrtle didn’t object.

The dog was still out in the living room. He was a small one, and he wandered around here and there. Apparently the landlord cared for him when Myrtle was out, which was most of the time.

“You know I don’t live here.”

“Yes, I know.” She hadn’t visited Myrtle’s house, but Myrtle had admitted to having one, and admitted to having a husband. Much too trusting. Again, endearing.

Myrtle stroked the fabric of her silky comforter. “I wish I did.”

“You wish you were married to Tom.”

“Yes—well, I don’t know. I think I’m in love with him.” She smiled bitterly. “But I don’t really know. He’s such a man. Not so different from my husband, lately.”

“Men are very much alike. Only a couple rare exceptions in the world.” And of those exceptions, the majority were like Nick Carraway: queer. This was why Jordan preferred pursuing women.

“I used to think I loved him because he could show me everything. And he bought me such nice things, and said such nice things…I didn’t think anyone else in the world could make me so happy.” Myrtle shrugged. “I don’t usually come here when Tom isn’t around. And there’s no point in going any of those fancy places without him, usually. They’re just lonely.”

“You should never have to be lonely,” Jordan said.

It was a line, really. A rote line you said to make someone feel better. But Myrtle sighed and relaxed, leaning on Jordan. “Lately I haven’t been.”

“Because of Tom.”

“No. Tom likes me to be lonely, so I’ll be happier when he’s around. And even when he’s here, he’s not…” Myrtle waved a hand. “And everything has to be a secret! If he loves me why does everything have to be a secret?”

“He has a wife.”

“So I have to be quiet. It’s him or my husband or nobody. It’s him or I give up everything good and beautiful and exciting in this world.”

Jordan put an arm around Myrtle squeezed her.

Myrtle looked up, eyes suddenly sharp. “Well?”

Jordan was taken aback. “Well what?”

“Aren’t you going to tell me I’m wrong?”

When Jordan hesitated, Myrtle pushed her off and stood up. She was halfway to the door when Jordan said, “You’re wrong.”

She turned back.

“You don’t need him or your husband. You don’t need to be alone or give up on everything beautiful.”

“Don’t I?”

“What do you want me to say? That I want you?”

Myrtle hesitated. Jordan walked over to her. She wrapped her arms around her waist and pulled her close. “You’re the one being coy, aren’t you?”

She kissed Myrtle’s neck, and bit down. Myrtle gasped.

Jordan whispered, “If you want me, take me.”

She began to pull away, but Myrtle grabbed her arms and pulled her back into the embrace. Then, standing on tip toes, she kissed Jordan’s lips, licking and sucking and biting as if she wanted to devour Jordan entirely. Jordan clung to her and kissed back.

 _Caught you_ , she thought as she gasped for breath. And when Myrtle loosened her grip a bit she led her over to the bed.

“Take me,” she murmured again, voice hoarse. And Myrtle did.


End file.
